


The One Thing Sherlock Will Eat

by Dylan Mischa Letacis (stereotypicalunicorn)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry!John, Body parts in the fridge, Crack, Experiments, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I hate myself, John is like Sherlock's mom, John leaves Sherlock, John loves jumpers, Johnlock - Freeform, Jumper - Freeform, Leaving, M/M, Smut, Vacation, blowjob, cockslut!Sherlock, kiss, not really any smut, sweater, there's really no smut it's not even like foreplay just kissing and stuff, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereotypicalunicorn/pseuds/Dylan%20Mischa%20Letacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's going to visit Mike Stamford for a week, but Sherlock really, really doesn't want John to leave. So when John tells Sherlock to be sure to eat something while the ex- soldier is away, Sherlock pulls a trick that he hopes will persuade John to stay at 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Thing Sherlock Will Eat

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. This just came to me. God help me.
> 
> I obviously don't own Sherlock and I'm not making money for writing this, blah blah blah. Not betaed or Brit-picked, which is probably obvious.

Sherlock Holmes was truly the most agonizing human being to ever exist.

 

John was going to visit Mike Stamford for 3 days in Manchester, and Sherlock seemed to be doing everything he could to keep him from leaving.

 

First, he had kept John up all night playing his violin. John could have sworn Sherlock was playing right outside his bedroom just to keep him awake.

 

Then, he had hidden the orange juice behind a stack of jars that held discolored hearts, livers, and kidneys floating in a toxic chemical brine.

 

John had no clue how or why, but when he went to sit in his armchair and read the paper, he found that the entire room was scattered with tiny little pieces of paper. (Was it paper? John could never be sure of what anything was when it came to the contents of 221B Baker Street.) John didn’t want to know why.

 

And finally, the worst crime of all: Sherlock had burnt an enormous hole in John’s best oatmeal jumper- for an  _ experiment. _

 

Now, drinking coffee while standing in the kitchen (he wasn’t prepared to face the Unidentified White Objects in the sitting room or the experiment-cluttered kitchen table), John was furious. What the hell was Sherlock doing? He had to know John was going to go see Mike no matter what he did. It was only for two days! Sherlock had left John for two years- and he didn’t even give him a heads up that he was still alive!

 

So when Sherlock walked out of his room, clearly not having attempted to sleep the night before by the looks of his still-crisp suit and immaculate head of curls, John was ready to give Sherlock a piece of his inferior, but still incredibly dangerous, he liked to think, mind.

 

“G’morning, John.”

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“How did you sleep?” Sherlock asked, although John could tell he didn’t really care.

 

“Oh, fine thank you. Just dandily,” John responded sarcastically.

 

“What is it? You seem upset,” Sherlock said, clearly already knowing John’s answer.

 

How dare he try to pretend he didn’t know.

 

“Okay, well, first of all,” John started. He looked up at Sherlock to see the other man grinning at him with that awful, shit-eating, knowing grin. He stopped mid-sentence and sighed. “Sherlock!” he scolded. “You do realize that I’m leaving, whether you try to stop me or not, don’t you? And for Christ’s sake, did it have to be the oatmeal one?” 

 

Sherlock’s smile only grew. “Well, I did have a particular loathing for that one.”

 

John rolled his eyes. “Well, no matter, I’m not your mother, so I am going to leave now and you are not going to bother me about it any longer.”

 

Sherlock’s lips pouted slightly, and his brow furrowed into an obvious sulk.

 

John went on. “Be sure to sleep while I’m gone- don’t give me any of your ‘playing the violin makes up for lost sleep’ bullshit- and make sure to drink water or hell, I don’t care, tea, coffee, Red Bull, anything, and, Sherlock,” he said, pausing in an attempt to get Sherlock to look at him. The consulting detective did not give him such satisfaction. “You have to eat something.” He paused once more. Sherlock showed no sign of noticing he had even been speaking. “Well then, I’ll be off.”

 

“But John!” Sherlock moaned.

 

“Now what is it?” John returned, exasperated.

 

“I can’t eat when you’re not here.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“Because I can’t eat your cock if you’re not present in the room, of course,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly with a near-perfect poker face, only the slightest hint of a smirk in the glimmer in his eyes.

 

John’s jaw dropped, his mouth hanging open, his jaw flapping like a screen door left blowing in a strong wind as he fumbled for words. Upon his realization of this, he abruptly closed his mouth. “Excuse me?” he finally got out, horribly aware of the tomato-like blush on his face.

 

Sherlock’s smirk now spread over his full face. “Oh, John,” he said, standing up from his chair at the kitchen table. “You know what I said,” he finished, coming to stand directly in front of the ex- soldier.

 

John gulped.

 

He wanted this. He really did. He had… since Baskerville he supposed, but he never considered that Sherlock could even feel that for someone.

 

Sherlock grinned now, gently taking John’s face in his hands. He leaned in slowly, and John froze, until finally, when their noses just touched, Sherlock stopped. “John,” he said, “is this okay?”

 

John paused, still slightly shocked. “Erm, yes. Yes. Please don’t stop,” he muttered, his thoughts hardly coherent at the sensation of Sherlock’s breath across his lips.

 

Sherlock smiled triumphantly at the desperation in his voice. He leaned in and his lips met John’s in an unprecedentedly passionate kiss. John moaned slightly at the tingling feeling of a kiss that he hadn’t had in- God, how long had it been since he’d kissed anyone?

 

Sherlock smiled slightly against his lips and pushed John backwards gently. John complied, stepping backwards until they reached Sherlock’s chair, and John readily sat back into it. Sherlock tilted John’s chin forward with his fingertips and came to straddle John’s hips.

 

“John,” Sherlock interrupted in a whisper, pulling away with swollen lips and closed eyes. “What about Mike Stamford?”

 

“Oh, screw Mike,” John muttered, pulling Sherlock back towards him.

 

After a moment, Sherlock pushed him away by the forearms. “John?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Please don’t shag Mike Stamford.”

  
“Oh, shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well... hope you liked it?
> 
> I'm so sorry.


End file.
